In the eve of memory, where shadows weave melodies unheard.
Resonating silence wraps topics never tendered, forged from the ashes of eons,
where each tick is a symphony shattered, waiting for an ear.
The mundane event, an echo; a flight of colors, itself forgotten in the vibrancy of dawn.
Fragments of laughter secluded, stored in the vaults of the weather-worn souls.
Could it be that the cacophony hums beneath our truths, waiting to be extracted?
Memory fractured ignites the unsung songs of old; one can only wonder why.
A half-remembered dream spills forth; the blackbirds flutter in entangled woods,
each note plucked from an unyielding tapestry of their fading thoughts.
Emerging upon a canvas, the reality gives way to abstraction as words escape their bindings.